The news of Robin’s injury was put with tact and restraint; nevertheless, it was a shock. The lack of detailed information left him imagining too much.
‘Come on,’ Robert said briskly, ‘let’s take a walk outside. We can smoke, and that will do us both good, I think.’
It was a relief, anyway, to be moving. Hunched against a cold, easterly wind, the two men paced the gravel paths and smoked Robert’s cigars. The situation struck Liam as so unlikely that he wanted to laugh. There were very few men about, but when they came upon a couple of his ward-mates, having a quiet smoke in the shelter of the chapel wall, Liam could contain his amusement no longer.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he laughed, ‘but if anyone had told me I would be taking a walk in these grounds with a British army colonel, and smoking his cigars, I’d have thought they were mad.’
To his surprise, Robert laughed, too; and for a moment there was such closeness between them, they were almost like friends.
‘Considering our collective reputations,’ Robert remarked, ‘the situation does have its elements of farce. But I would hazard a guess,’ he added dryly, ‘that when you return to your friends, you may have to suffer for this meeting...’
‘Perhaps so. I shan’t mind it.’
‘No?’
Shrewd eyes looked him over, and Liam laughed again, ruefully this time. ‘I’ve suffered worse.’
‘Yes,’ his father softly remarked, ‘I’m sure you have.’
They walked for a while in silence, until Robert broke it with a suggestion that Liam might like to visit his brother once he was settled into a British hospital. ‘I know you’ve applied for home leave and been refused – but give it another week and apply again. By that time we should know what’s happening with Robin, and you may well be fit to travel, of course.’
‘I feel fit enough now.’
‘And to me you look it,’ Robert agreed. ‘But you know what these medical chaps are – like to hold the whip hand. If they still want to be awkward, I shall have to see what I can do – and if it comes to it,’ he added with smile, ‘I dare say we can always wangle some leave for Georgie, and get her to travel with you...’
Liam’s heart leapt, and he could not meet his father’s eyes. He was almost abrupt in his dismissal of the idea, and yet the thought of travelling with her, of spending two or three days in her company, filled him with guilty delight.
‘Well, we’ll see what transpires. I may even take some time off, too. I haven’t had any leave to speak of for the last couple of years...’
There was awkwardness, but it was mysteriously ironed out. Liam was granted 48 hours’ home leave, and released into the care of a trained nursing sister – Georgina – and her father, Colonel Duncannon.
Ready and waiting for them just before midday, Liam was subject to the kind of ribbing he had endured at the time of Robert’s first visit; and more than a few sneers. ‘It’s all right for some’, seemed to be the general tone of it, issued in varying degrees of envy. Although it set him apart from the others, he could tolerate that; what he could not ignore were the slanders heaped upon Robert Duncannon because of his rank. Liam was astonished at the level of anger they provoked in him; even more so to hear himself defending his father in much the same way as Robin had done some four months previously. Yet it was not that he saw him as being suddenly perfect – he was still aware of the other man’s shortcomings and an arbitrary manner that took little account of other people – but Robert Duncannon was his father, and Liam had accepted that, and it made all the difference in the world. He might still criticize the man himself, but he would not have others do so.
Of course, he could not admit to the relationship. As far as anyone else was concerned, they were uncle and nephew, and Georgina was still his cousin; but with her connections revealed, he was no longer teased about her devotion to him.
The journey north was a trial, however. They were alone in a First Class compartment, and with Georgina facing him, Liam was afraid of betraying the intimacy between them. He forced himself to focus on the Colonel. While he was happy to answer questions about Australia, talking about the war was a different matter. As a professional soldier, Robert Duncannon was keen to hear Liam’s first-hand accounts, especially of the Somme; only as Georgina pressed his arm did he notice that Liam was becoming distressed and change the subject.
After that, Liam spent much of the journey staring out of the window or pretending to be asleep. He was anxious about Robin and worried about the forthcoming meeting with his mother; but he kept thinking too about his last few hours at home, about reactions which had sent him fleeing to the far side of the world. Now the pain had gone, it all seemed so extreme.
He was surprised not to have been interrogated about that. In a subsequent meeting with his father at Queen’s Gate, the past had been referred to, but although Liam had steeled himself, the questions never came. Indeed, it was with uncharacteristic difficulty that Robert Duncannon broached the subject at all. And it seemed he had done so only in order to apologize.
‘We must all of us,’ Liam remembered him saying, ‘seem so inadequate – your mother, Edward and myself. And yet we only did what we thought was best at the time. Other than being totally frank with you all from the beginning – and given the circumstances, Liam, that was very difficult – I can’t see what else we might have done. None of it was intentional – and I know your mother well enough to say that she was only trying to protect you. She didn’t want you – any of you – to suffer the slur of illegitimacy. And whether it was right or not, Edward and I went along with that.
‘But still, I haven’t forgiven myself for calling on your mother that afternoon. I’ll be honest — I wanted to see her, and for no other reason than the pleasure of her company. But she was not pleased to see me, and ultimately, we argued. And that was the argument you overheard. I’m sorry. Believe me, I am truly sorry for that...’
And with a swift glance at his face, Liam had believed him. It was impossible not to. But in that moment he had dreaded any reference to the subject of that quarrel, and in order to deflect it, broke in with acceptance of that apology, and his own assurances that he understood.
For a moment he had endured a very searching glance, but the only questions that were asked were with regard to his mother. How did he feel about seeing her again, and had he forgiven her?
He had, of course. Having now added the sin of deceit to all his other crimes, Liam was no longer standing in judgment on even the smallest omission. The thing that still hurt was his blood tie with Georgina: without it, he could have loved her without deceit, taken her as his wife and looked forward to some kind of future. With her beside him, nothing else would have mattered. But – and his practical mind always came back to this – had his mother never met Robert Duncannon, he, Liam, might never have been born. And even if he had, his world and Georgina’s were so far removed, it was unlikely that they would ever have met. And try as he might, Liam could not regret the joy of her, would not willingly have lived without knowing that.
For much of the journey, his mind was a vortex of conflicting emotions, and the only thing that he was truly glad about was the absence of his other sister. Tisha had gone up to York the week before, but would be staying with Aunt Emily in Leeds while Liam was visiting. That, at least, was a blessing. He did not think he could have withstood her sharp eyes and tactless observations. Robert and Georgina planned to stay in town.
It was dark well before they approached their destination, and after what had seemed an interminable time, Liam was surprised to hear the guard shouting: ‘York — this is York — change here for Scarborough, Whitby, Harrogate...’
As those old, familiar names caught him, Liam rubbed at the window. The train slowed to a squeaking halt. Through the grime he could just make out dim lights and bobbing heads along the platform; then Robert lowered the window and hailed a porter, and Liam saw the bold sign on a vacant seat – York.
Home. It af
fected him more deeply than he would ever have believed. He took in the cast iron railings of the barrier, the wooden station-master’s office and the clock by the steps. It was after six, and that slow journey via sidings and wayside halts had taken five and a half hours. Cold, sooty air assailed his nostrils as he stepped down onto the platform; behind her father’s back, Georgina pressed his hand and he smiled at her, briefly.
They took a taxi to Harker’s Hotel, and, ignoring all protests, Robert paid the driver to take Liam on to Clementhorpe. ‘Nonsense,’ he declared, ‘we’re supposed to be looking after you – and if I thought you wanted our company, I’d have insisted on seeing you to the door.’
Liam was grateful. ‘I’ll see you both tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes, half-past ten – that should leave us time enough to get to Leeds and have something to eat before we go on to the hospital.’
They shook hands. For a second, Liam was nonplussed, wondering how to part from Georgina, but she squeezed the hand he held out to her and reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Best of luck,’ she murmured, and waved as the taxi left the kerb.
In the gas-lit darkness, York seemed no different from the city he had left, but it disturbed him, nevertheless. Needing to find his emotional bearings, he dismissed the taxi by Skeldergate Bridge, and walked the last few hundred yards along the riverside. The scent of the river was the same, dank and cold, racing along with winter rains, carrying with it the mustiness of flour mills and sawn timber from warehouses on his right. Naked trees reached up into the night, and a chill wind increased the tension within him. Too soon, it seemed, those ancient elms gave way to a line of spear-like railings, railings that he had painted in that summer before the war...
It was too much. Shivering, he stopped to light a cigarette, absorbing the dark mass of the cottage against the night sky, two downstairs windows lit, and the half-perceived forms of shrubs beside the path. It seemed he had lived a lifetime since that summer dawn, changed beyond recognition from the boy he was then. What changes would he find within?
The kitchen curtains were not quite drawn. Caught by a movement, his eyes studied the gap. He moved close, paused by the railings, and, on an impulse, climbed over them, not trusting the gate. Edging carefully between the shrubs, he reached the side of the house and the path that ran round to the kitchen door. As he expected, the rear curtains were not drawn at all, and he could see his mother in profile, bent to the range. She looked anxious for a moment, closed the oven door, set down her cloth and pushed back a strand of hair. It was a gesture he remembered well. Flushed by the firelight glow, her face seemed just the same, the cheekbones a little more noticeable, perhaps, but she had not really changed at all.
A great wave of relief swept through him, releasing the tension, leaving him weak as a child. He leaned for a moment against the wall, eyes closed in silent gratitude; only as he moved did he realize that his lashes were wet. He brushed at them roughly and took a deep breath; like going over the top, this would have to be done quickly, or not at all. Passing close to the window, he tapped lightly on the door and then walked in.
Although he was expected, a look of incredulity swept over her. For a second she clung to the edge of the table, swaying a little; then, as he took a step towards her, she moved. He thought she was going to embrace him, but she stopped short about a yard away, stiffly, just looking at him, every conceivable emotion chasing across her features. Then she burst into tears, hiding her face as those great, heaving sobs racked her body.
‘Mother...’
Equally distraught, for a moment he was afraid to touch her, and when he did, she was so stiff in his arms he thought she would never unbend, never forgive him.
‘Please – don’t – I’m sorry...’ He kept repeating the words, over and over, while the harsh sobs shook him. She felt so small to him and fragile; he could feel the bones of back and shoulders hunched beneath his hands and it frightened him. He had never known her weep like this. To him she had always been so calm, so strong.
But just as he thought the sobs would never stop, they did. She hugged and kissed him, and hugged him again; her tears wet his face, but she was smiling, her sobs more like little laughs as she struggled for control. Liam hugged her to him then, burying his face against her shoulder, and for a full minute he wept like a child. She soothed and petted him, and he was vaguely aware of a door opening, then quietly closing again.
His mother sat him down in her chair, close to the range, and as he searched his pockets, handed him a handkerchief. ‘Here – take this – you always did lose every handkerchief I ever gave you...’
He laughed, weakly. ‘No, I have got one, somewhere...’ But he took the one she gave him, wiped his eyes and blew his nose, and everything was suddenly right, the kettle was on the hob, tea was being made, and his mother was smiling, telling him that she had made his favourite, a shin beef stew with lots of vegetables; the savoury dumplings were ready to go in...
‘Go in and see your Dad,’ she said, arranging things on a tray. ‘He came in a minute ago, but didn’t want to intrude. I’ll bring the tea.’
In Edward he did see changes, saw them instantly in pallor and slowness of movement as the older man rose to greet him. He was a year or two over sixty, and for the first time looked that and more. As they embraced, Liam was aware that time, for his adoptive father, was running out, and the awareness stabbed at him.
‘It’s so good to see you...’ There were a couple of betraying tears, brushed hastily away.
‘And you, Dad...’ For a while they just clasped hands and looked at each other. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, not quite as tough as I used to be – but all the better for seeing you!’
Liam glanced round. As he came in he had noticed the single bed, standing at the back of the room where Edward’s desk had always been.
‘Yes, it’s a damned nuisance, but we had to bring Tisha’s old bed down here for me to use. I don’t seem able to manage the stairs these days...’
That weakness evidently annoyed him, but in the next moment he was praising Louisa’s care, saying she should have been a nurse; and that despite the chronic wartime shortages, she worked wonders with fuel and food. ‘And she works so hard – out in the garden all weathers, digging and planting, hoeing out weeds. The way she goes at them, you’d think each one was a German with a gun!’ He laughed. ‘But she seems to thrive on it, I don’t know why.’
‘She always did love her garden,’ Liam said, smiling.
‘And you,’ Edward said. ‘She always loved you... I’m so glad you’ve come home...’
What threatened to be another emotional moment was saved by his mother’s arrival. The tea was sweet and strong, its freshness an exquisite pleasure after the stewed and adulterated brews he was used to; and although there were more vegetables than meat in the meal they shared later, it was the best food he had tasted in months.
Afterwards, they sat by the fire, talking, until Edward’s eyes began to droop; then Louisa boiled the kettle again and put hot-water bottles in all their beds, while Liam volunteered to do the dishes.
Once Edward was settled, the two of them sat on in the kitchen until well after midnight, discussing his illness and Robin’s wounds, and the girl to whom Robin had become quite seriously attached.
Liam remembered Sarah Pemberton well, a pretty girl of about his own age, with striking auburn hair. Before the war, Robin had been a particular friend of her brother, Freddie, but, like so many more, he was dead now, killed on the first day of the Somme. Robin had been writing to Sarah since he joined up – or rather, his mother pointed out dryly, she had been writing to him — but since his leave at Christmas, it had become more than just a casual friendship.
‘She’s been visiting him, which I’m glad about, because I haven’t been able to get to Leeds more than once a week. With your Dad not so well, it’s been difficult, but they say they’ll be moving Robin over here, to the military hospital, once he’s a bit better
.’
‘And how is he? What do the doctors say about that knee of his?’
‘Well, he’s made good progress, apparently – he’s had a couple of operations already, as you know, but it’s healing well. He won’t lose the leg,’ she added tersely, ‘although he may never walk properly again.’
‘If you ask me,’ Liam remarked, ‘that can only be a good thing. If he can’t march, Mother, the army won’t want him back.’
‘But -’
‘But nothing – he’s done his bit, he’s been in it since the very beginning, and after what his lot went through, he’s lucky to be alive. But if he could march with the best of them, Mother, they’d drag him back tomorrow.’ With anger inside him, Liam shook his head. ‘Just be thankful.’
‘I am. I am thankful – most particularly to have you here, and in one piece.’ She pressed his hand. ‘I was so afraid – so afraid...’ Unable to finish the sentence, she looked away and dabbed hurriedly at her eyes.
‘I’m all right,’ he said gently, ‘I’m the lucky one.’ With a confidence he did not feel, he added: ‘If I could come through Gallipoli without a scratch, then I can survive anything. The proverbial bad penny...’
His grin provoked a smile. ‘You can be as bad as you like – just stay alive!’
But that made him think of Georgina, and his eyes slid away. His mother knew of her occasional visits, and had expressed her gratitude as well as concern. She could imagine just how wearing were the journeys, particularly on top of hard work and other responsibilities. It was a pity, she said, that Tisha could not have stirred herself more often. But then came another surprise: it seemed his sister was expecting a baby, which in his mother’s eyes excused much. The news was clearly a pleasure, so the topic of Tisha and her husband and the forthcoming child occupied them for some time.
Liam's Story Page 50
